


You Didn't Think They Just Sold It To Him, Did You?

by Amanuensis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: The Dungeon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-16
Updated: 2008-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-26 11:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanuensis/pseuds/Amanuensis
Summary: From HBP Chapter 29:"...the moment he saw us he threw something into the air and it all went pitch-black -" "- Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," said Ron bitterly. "Fred and George's. I'm going to be having a word with them about who they let buy their products."





	You Didn't Think They Just Sold It To Him, Did You?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for the [2007 Merry Smutmas](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/merry_smutmas) giftfest, hosted on InsaneJournal. For ships_harry, whose requests included: "Weasley Twins/Draco Malfoy...I'm fond of unstructured, unritualised (but fairly heavy) D/s situations. Sounding, bondage, orgasm denial (long term, even, with chastity devices), slavery, rimming etc, object insertion, humiliation, nipple stimulation/torture, piercings (but not seeing them done)... I have a weakness for rentboy fic..." Hope I got a satisfying number of those in here for you! (Because I'm your fangirl, I really am.) About 7,500 words.  
>  Thanks to my betas seshat1, luciology, gingertart50, and aunty_marion.  
> 

  
"Pick up your filthy coin and get the bleeding hell out of here before I feed it to you."  
  
George let two boxes of Smart-Answer Quills suffer the effects of his quick turn as they tumbled off the top of the stack he was carrying in his arms. He couldn't remember when he'd heard Fred sound that deadly angry.  
  
The figures in front of him could have been a tableau. The coin in question, a Galleon, sat innocently on the counter, next to an equally innocent packet of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Fred had pushed his way between Verity and the counter, a fierce hand still on her arm, though Fred's anger had nothing to do with her. Before the counter, his arrogant pointed chin held even higher than usual, Draco Malfoy posed like a man who had a perfect right to be in Fred and George's shop.  
  
George felt his own features melt into a mirror of Fred's snarl. The bloody little toerag.  
  
On Malfoy, the same twist of features turned into a sneer. "That, you peasant, is a Galleon. I'm sure you've never seen the like--"  
  
Fred had let go of Verity's arm and both hands seized the front of Malfoy's grey tailored robes. "Got a hearing problem, Malfoy?" Malfoy's face reflected surprise for only a moment, then hardened back into the sneer even as Fred continued, "You're not welcome. Your money's not welcome. We're selling nothing to you."  
  
Malfoy's hands were lifting. George let the remainder of the quill boxes fall and crossed the few steps it took to bring him behind Malfoy. Seizing the collar of Malfoy's robes, he tore the smaller boy from Fred's grip, shaking him hard in case he'd managed to get a hand on his wand. Malfoy yelped satisfyingly.  
  
"Door's behind you," he said, spinning Malfoy about and shoving him in its direction. "Appreciate it if you didn't touch the handle as you go. I don't know a scouring charm strong enough."  
  
The corner of Fred's mouth pulled up. Verity had wisely stepped back; there looked to be an all-out duel at any moment. George was aware of two boys, probably third-years-to-be, retreating towards the back of the store, similarly nervous.  
  
Malfoy stood before the door, red-faced, tugging the neck of his cloak away from his throat with a small gasp. Otherwise he didn't move. "I'm a customer. With money. You can't just throw me out; I'll have you--"  
  
Fred picked up the Galleon and threw it at Malfoy, who made no attempt to catch it. It bounced off the floorboards while Malfoy's gaze remained on the counter, George noticed. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes reserves the right to refuse service to anyone, for any reason. Guess what? You're refused."  
  
Malfoy's face went even redder. His mouth opened once, then snapped shut and with equal speed he spun, shoved open the door and left. Not taking the Galleon.  
  
George let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, just as he heard Fred beginning to chuckle. He looked over at his brother, feeling an answering smile spread over his own face.  
  
"Once upon a time he'd have threatened us with his father," Fred said. "Too bad for him he can't do that any more, eh?"  
  


* * *

  
  
If it hadn't been for the way Malfoy's eyes had lingered on the counter, not the Galleon, George might not have even noticed who was making the purchase. But two days later, when a lone packet of Peruvian Darkness Powder was set on the counter by a customer, George looked up to see the face of the purchaser.  
  
The name didn't come to him, not then. But the purse of her mouth was familiar enough--as if she was always tasting something bad--as was the hair colour that the hood of her cloak was failing to conceal. Malfoy's girl, he was sure of it.  
  
He started to tell her to get out as well, but decided differently even as his mouth was opening. "Oh, this!" He smiled apologetically and picked up the packet from the counter. "Sorry, love--can't sell this."  
  
Her face froze. "What?"  
  
"No, sorry, just got word to pull them. Awfully bad side effects. Terrible for business, you know." He turned his back to her, heading to the section of the shop which held the display. He'd have to get them off the shelf before she or any more of Malfoy's cronies could make a move for them; he didn't trust any of them not to pocket one in desperation.  
  
"But I need that!" She was starting to follow him, as he'd guessed she might. "I don't care about the side effects--look, just one--"  
  
"No." He turned to block her way, drawing himself up, fists on hips, the packet firmly clutched. "You can't have it. Not today, not ever. Anything else you want?"  
  
Something in her shrank back though she did not actually appear to move. Her mouth tightened further. "No."  
  
"Bye then," he said flatly, and she didn't stay to argue.  
  
Fred looked up as he carried the display box into the back room. "Keep these off the shelves for now, okay?"  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Parkinson." The name had just come to him. "Came in to buy it for Malfoy, it was obvious. He really wants this stuff."  
  
Fred looked wickedly pleased. "Pleasure denying it to the little git."  
  


* * *

  
  
Serious burglars, both of them had imagined, would be intelligent enough to keep away from a joke shop, what with the nature of the wards and safety measures such proprietors were likely to employ. So they'd decided to have pity on the petty (and stupid) thieves who might actually try to jimmy the door, and use non-deadly force in their booby traps (though they could have been a good deal harsher).  
  
George found something like regret in his thoughts, regarding that decision, when he and Fred were awakened in the dead of night to find a bound and outraged Draco Malfoy swinging from the ceiling by the tether on his trapped ankles, just inside the shop's back door, the trip hex having done its job quite nicely. Since it hadn't killed Malfoy, now they had to decide what to do with the bastard.  
  
"I don't know," said Fred, leaning against one wall to watch Malfoy struggle. "I think turning him over to the authorities is too good for him."  
  
"Breaking and entering might put him in Azkaban, though," George said, playing along. "Maybe they'll give you the cell next to your dad's, you think, Malfoy?"  
  
"What a nice little reunion that would be." Fred reached over, gave the dangling Malfoy a push to set him swinging again. "I think that sounds too happy. Can't have that. We'll have to think of something else."  
  
"Vermicious Vermicelli, maybe? Set them on him? That'd be properly nasty. He can't even protect his eyes, tied like this."  
  
That had the hoped-for effect. Malfoy's eyes bulged below his gag and the series of "mmrph"s became frantic.  
  
Fred nodded as if considering. "Better if we get his clothes off, first."  
  
Malfoy actually squeaked.  
  
George smiled. "I think I've got a better plan."  
  
It didn't take him long to find the camera. Fred grinned his approval when he saw it. "I think we have to record this moment for our scrapbooks, Malfoy. Smile? Oh, that's right, you can't. Too bad."  
  
Both he and Fred took their turns with the camera, capturing Malfoy's humiliation from every possible angle, with a good number of close-ups of his purpling face. Fred once again voiced getting Malfoy's clothes off, but they left it as scare tactics, though George felt an internal twinge of disappointment that that was where they left it. They did crack open a Pixie Swarm, which was an egg containing a dozen miniature Cornish Pixies that attacked the helpless Malfoy, pinching and tickling him for two minutes before vanishing. Malfoy squealed like a girl for that one and George thought it was the best sound he'd ever heard.  
  
Finally, they pronounced themselves satisfied; Fred made a show of Apparating away with the camera to secrete it somewhere Malfoy wouldn't have a hope of finding. At last, with a wand flick from George, the bonds holding Malfoy all came free at once. Malfoy fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs and howls; nothing appeared to have broken in the fall and George wasn't sure he would have cared if it had. Little maggot.  
  
They had the satisfaction of watching the very whipped Malfoy crawl to the door, groaning and not even bothering with anything like dirty looks behind him as he got himself out of the shop. George couldn't help yelling, "Come back any time!" cheerily after him. Once outside Malfoy regained his feet and staggered away, not bothering to close the door and clearly not up to Apparating until he was well out of sight.  
  
"Where'd you put the camera?" George asked at last, once they'd shut the door and reset the trip hex--a different one in a different location, this time.  
  
"I'll show you," Fred grinned. "Let's go and develop those pictures and start making copies. A lot of copies."  
  


* * *

  
  
"I like this one," George said a few days later, perched on his bed, dozens of photographs scattered about him. He handed a shot of Malfoy's face to Fred. "We had him in tears by that point."  
  
Fred took it and made obscene, appreciative noises over it. "What do you think he'd do to get these back?"  
  
George looked at him. "We're not going to give them back, though, are we?"  
  
"'Course not. But he doesn't have to know that." Fred leaned back on his own bed, lacing his fingers behind his head. George knew that contemplative look. "But imagine what we could get from that piece of shit just by offering."  
  
"We got a hell of a lot. Better than his bloody Galleons."  
  
"Far better." Fred sat back up. "I wasn't thinking about money. Neither were you, in fact."  
  
George found himself shifting where he sat, suddenly awkward, not wanting to acknowledge why he was shifting. "Wasn't thinking about anything."  
  
"If I was thinking about it--" Fred leaned forward-- "you were thinking about it too, brother mine." His voice dropped. "It was fun humiliating him like that, wasn't it."  
  
"Yeah. More than fun." George didn't even consider dissembling, though he could feel his face heating.  
  
"Sexy, wasn't it." Fred's eyes were half-lidded.  
  
Confronting it like that was momentarily too much for George; he tried to snort it off. "I don't fancy Malfoy."  
  
"Nothing to do with fancying him, is it?" It wasn't. George knew that. "It's not like we want to romance the fucker."  
  
His mouth had become dry. "No." Not romance at all. Watch him cry again. Make him beg.  
  
Fuck, he was completely hard already.  
  
He didn't have to say any of it, just met Fred's eyes.  
  
"You game?" Fred said at last.  
  
"Yeah," George said with a slow exhale. "I am."  
  
"So." Fred had another of those smiles on his face. "What do you think he'd do to get the pictures back?"  
  
"Maybe not just for the pictures. Maybe we sweeten the deal by offering him the Peruvian Darkness Powder he wants."  
  
Fred's face screwed up. "He can order the bloody stuff direct from Peru."  
  
It was George's turn to smile. "Yeah, but does he know that?"  
  


* * *

  
  
In the end they used George's draft of the letter. They decided the direct approach was best; no fancy euphemisms, so Malfoy would know they were prepared to be blunt and crude about it.  
  
 _We're so happy with the pictures we may not be able to resist showing them around. You don't want that, do you? We were wondering what you'd do in return for having the entire set back in your hands. And maybe a little of what you've been trying so hard to get from our shop. If you want to discuss it, come back to the shop after closing tomorrow night. And don't bother bringing money. It's not even close to our terms._  
  
Malfoy, bless him, was prompt. His cloak was black but his looks, surprisingly, were not. He was hollow-eyed, flushed, wouldn't even meet their eyes. His mouth, cracked-lipped as if dehydrated after sleepless nights, held nothing of his usual sneer.  
  
We...broke him, the other night, George thought, surprised. He'd expected Malfoy to have regained all his spit and snarl since then. Instead Malfoy had no fight in him.  
  
It put George on his guard.  
  
"We had a good time the other night," Fred addressed Malfoy. "Now all we've got are pictures and memories. They're nice, but we thought we might have a bit more fun. At your expense, of course." Malfoy said nothing. Fred went on: "In return, you can have your pictures back."  
  
Malfoy's eyes rose at last. "How do I know I'll get them all? That you haven't made copies?" His voice had a husk to it. Hearing him like that--no resistance, no spirit--knowing it was because of what they'd done to him, knowing Malfoy was ready to submit to more...George felt his guard sliding away. Merlin, but he could hardly keep the eagerness off his face.  
  
Fred shrugged a shoulder. "You can't, really. You get what we give you."  
  
"But if you're good--" the words overtook George-- "we'll be more likely to be generous. If you don't want anyone else to see them, we suggest you be very good." Malfoy met his eyes only to the end of that speech, then dropped them again.  
  
"We might be extra generous," Fred added. "If you really want that powder after all."  
  
Malfoy looked up. "Yeah. I do." His lower lip protruded, stubborn at last over this particular item.  
  
He had to know he could get it elsewhere, George thought. He was going belly-up too easily.  
  
Well, if he was, that was his own lookout. They'd happily take advantage of it.  
  
"Well, then." Fred unfolded his arms, took a step toward Malfoy. "Let's start with a little of what we missed the other night." He stopped an arm's length from the smaller boy, not touching him or making any indication he planned to. "Get your clothes off."  
  
Again, the look Malfoy gave him, then gave George, held no fury, no fight. Reluctance could only be read in the time it took him to comply.  
  
Comply he did. Lifted his hands to the clasp of his cloak, unfastened it and let the cloak fall like a man going to his execution, like he'd never need it again. Malfoy's face was starting to redden already, his breathing picking up pace. Perfect.  
  
They did not need to prompt him further. Slowly but under his own power, Malfoy stripped off, down to socks and underwear and, when given no indication that he could stop there, removed every last stitch, shoving the pants down his skinny hips with a shiver, folding his arms on his chest when he was naked at last.  
  
"Arms at your sides," George said automatically, and Malfoy obeyed. That was the moment, George remembered later, when the rush of power became real for him--when that tiny command was yielded to as if everything depended upon it. To Malfoy, it did.  
  
Had it not been Malfoy, George might have shied from the potency of it. Since it was, he merely became hungry for still more. "Get on your knees," he said, and Fred gave him a look of approval.  
  
Malfoy's struggle with himself, before obeying this time, was palpable--he licked his lips and shut his eyes briefly; upon opening them, his eyes searched the faces of his two tormentors. Evidently he found nothing he could use there, as he dropped his eyes, shivered again, then slowly folded at the knees and sank down.  
  
"Don't move," murmured Fred as they began to circle him. It was a good position in which to study him; the droop of his head concealed all that they hated about his pointy little face; the hunch of his shoulders curved his spine and gave his arse an inviting swell. His chest--  
  
"Fuck," Fred laughed. "Look at this." He reached out and tugged at the small gold ring threaded through Malfoy's left nipple. "Where'd you get this, you deviant?"  
  
"Fuck," George echoed. "The little fairy's a top-level pervert." The blood was rushing into--or out of--his head, he wasn't sure which. He seized Malfoy's unadorned right nipple and twisted it; Malfoy's head tilted up and his mouth opened but he didn't make a sound, as if he didn't dare. "That's it, isn't it, you fuck? This your fucking fantasy, why you crawled back here so eager for more?"  
  
Fred sucked in a breath. George didn't wait to hear what he had to say. He twisted the nipple harder, until Malfoy did cry out, a strangled _unnh_ of noise. "You went straight home the other night and wanked until you went blind, didn't you? Probably came spontaneously when that owl arrived, demanding more. You're the luckiest little fucker who ever walked the earth." He grabbed Malfoy's jaw in his hand, pulled his face up. "I'm not sure whether to be happy or pissed about that."  
  
Which was a lie. He was blissful. Malfoy kinked on this--that meant they didn't have to hold back. Not an inch. Fuck, yes.  
  
Fred seized a handful of Malfoy's hair. "I think we owe it to you to make sure you don't like it too much." He shook Malfoy by that handful. "What do you say, prick? You want to back out now? Want to see those photos in the hands of all your friends by tomorrow?"  
  
"N-no," Malfoy huffed, all too quickly. All too eagerly. This was going to be a fantastic night.  
  
"Lace your fingers behind your neck," said Fred. "Arch your back. We want to see that lovely little ring again." Malfoy's hands rose slowly, his breathing quickening still further as he did as he was told. "Something to pull you around by, isn't it?"  
  
Malfoy bit his lips. George had the impression he would have protested--but not to ask them to stop.  
  
Fred was fingering the ring again, turning it within its piercing. "Where'd you get this, your last boyfriend? What'd you do to get it?"  
  
George knew they didn't really want answers. "You got it as a reward, didn't you? For being a proper little cocksucker, I'll bet."  
  
"Or arse spreader."  
  
"Bet you moan like a girl."  
  
George had stepped behind Malfoy. Now he pushed at the underside of Malfoy's buttocks with the toe of his shoe. "Spread your knees. We want to see what everyone else has had."  
  
"Probably not worth it."  
  
"Worth spitting on, maybe. Get your fucking legs apart and show us." Malfoy shifted, starting to unlace his hands but remembering not to. Leaving his hands where they were on the back of his neck he spread his knees apart on the floor, bending forward a little to present his arse. George could see the shadow of his balls beneath, tight with arousal or fear or both. He wanted it to be both.  
  
He nudged at the vulnerable pouch with his toe, rewarded by Malfoy's gasp. "All right, maybe a little worth it. What do you think, Fred?"  
  
"Not bad." He took up that handful of Malfoy's hair again. "Which is good, because you're going to be showing it to us a lot. Get used to seeing those floorboards under your face, prick." He shoved Malfoy's head down into that very position, bringing up Malfoy's arse as well as his dangling balls and cock. Malfoy huffed again, shuddered, but made no attempt to bring his knees back together.  
  
Fred met George's eyes. "You want him?"  
  
George did. They both did. They both knew it was too soon, though. "He needs to earn it first." He crouched low over Malfoy. "You hear that, prick? By the time we fuck you in the arse, you're going to be crying with relief. You're going to think it's the best thing that's ever happened to you, to be allowed to feel our cocks and our come inside your worthless arse."  
  
Malfoy didn't look up. His flesh was quivering and his breathing sounded like a steam engine stuttering out of his chest.  
  
George set his shoe at Malfoy's balls again, pressed hard enough to get a squeak out of him. "Tell us you deserve it."  
  
Only a catch in Malfoy's throat kept him from answering immediately, but they heard him choke his way past it to answer: "I deserve it."  
  
"Very good," said Fred. "Except you don't deserve it, do you? Not yet." On cue, George pushed a little harder with the toe of his shoe so that Malfoy yelled, his fingers flying away from the back of his neck to brace himself upon the floor. "Stay like that. Don't move."  
  
If they weren't going to fuck his arse yet, both of them wanted to see it abused in some way. George felt as if he wanted to dig his fingers into those pale globes and work gouges of flesh out of them.  
  
A bamboo cane waited at the ready; Fred picked it up and made a few experimental swishes in the air with it, the last close enough for Malfoy to feel the air pass over his arse. Fred looked appraisingly at that pale target and then swung the cane to catch him right across both cheeks. A pink line rose, coincident with Malfoy's yelp; he didn't move. Fred let the next five land in almost the identical position, deepening the line. Malfoy's toes and fists curled upon the floor, and he cried out each time, though none of his cries resembled the word "no."  
  
"A nice warm-up for you," Fred said, letting the cane catch Malfoy a little lower, towards his seat. "Think we'll be at this a while, won't we, George."  
  
Three more blows, each one a little lower, and Fred extended the cane to George. Malfoy had several nice welts blooming, the deepest marks at his hip where the tip had struck. George stood on the opposite side so that the tip of the cane could do equal time on Malfoy's other hip.  
  
He aimed directly at the underside of Malfoy's arse, catching him between buttocks and thighs. Malfoy yelled even louder with the blow; it had bitten in deeply enough to be nearly purple. Seeing that, George aimed for the same spot again, and again, over and over at least a dozen times until the welt was livid and nearly an inch broad, and Malfoy was drumming his feet on the floorboards. "Ahhh!" he screamed at the last blow. "Fuck!"  
  
"Ooh, such language," Fred tsked. "Better start counting those, George; we'll add them up and make sure he suffers for that filthy mouth before we're done."  
  
"Don't move," warned George. "I like seeing your arse turn colours. Going to keep heating it up for you for a bit." He abandoned the cane, chose a round wooden paddle to replace it. "Keep your legs open, too."  
  
The first blow of the paddle went right over the thick purple welt, and it had been no experimental slap--Malfoy howled and sat right up, hands going to his abused arse. Fred leapt forward as if it were exactly what they were waiting for--which George supposed it was. "Oh, no, can't have that." He shoved Malfoy back down, his wand in hand, which he aimed at Malfoy's wrists. Ropy tentacles shot out of the wand and encircled Malfoy's wrists, fixing them to the floor in front of his face. "Better not take the chance here either--" He did the same to Malfoy's ankles, leaving them spread wide behind him. "All yours, George," he pronounced, leaning against the wall in his previous position.  
  
George let fly. Paddle met arse on the left, the right, back again. Each blow would have shoved Malfoy forward if he could have moved; instead they rocked him in his bonds, crushed flesh between bone and wood, tore howls out of him. As well as a number of choice curses, each of which both Fred and George tut-tutted over.  
  
Malfoy was crying. His face was that same lovely purple shade it had been the other night, and nice fat tears were sliding down it. "Stop, oh, fuck, stop!" he screamed at last.  
  
George didn't drop the paddle, but he walked around to stand in front of Malfoy's face. "You want us to stop? Backing out on us?"  
  
Malfoy gasped and gulped. "It's too much. Please."  
  
Begging. Oh, yes. "Well, then--" he crouched down--"if we stop this, you agree to whatever else we do next. Don't you."  
  
"Yes. Yes." It was desperate, not heartfelt, but it was more delicious that way. George stepped back; Fred was already looking through the boxful of toys they'd prepared.  
  
"That," said George, seeing what Fred's fingertips had touched at that moment.  
  
"Think you're right," said Fred, lifting it from the box. They were behind Malfoy, so he couldn't see unless he turned his head. "Don't move," warned Fred again; Malfoy panted and gasped where he was. In his hand Fred had a teardrop-shaped brass weight the size of a man's thumb; he lifted it to his mouth and spat audibly on the end of the thing. George bent down, set one of his hands on each of Malfoy's reddened arsecheeks, eliciting a nice hiss from him, and spread them open to reveal the pucker of his hole.  
  
Malfoy only inhaled as the thing went inside him. It wasn't enough of a reaction, not nearly enough. "Know what that is?" said George. "It's glass. A little thin glass ornament," he lied. "Might break if you don't relax. So don't try to clench your arsehole around it or it might get messy, _accio_ -ing the pieces out."  
  
Fred was biting his lips so that he didn't laugh. "That's right. Love to see you explain that one at St. Mungo's."  
  
"You bastards...!" Malfoy moaned. His flesh was trembling all over again, and he was carefully not clenching his buttocks, even when Fred ran an eager finger over his welts. George thought Malfoy might guess the lie from the weight of the thing, but also assumed he wouldn't want to take the risk.  
  
"Fuck," Fred said, admiring. "Look at this." Malfoy's cock, which had made a solid show at erection when they'd started beating his arse, but flagged when it began to get brutal, was now ramrod stiff, blood-red and leaking, moisture bubbling out at the tip. "You fucking little pervert, you. Bet if we threatened to cut off your balls you'd get even harder." He punctuated it with a good slap to the arse, right over the nastiest line of the welts.  
  
Malfoy jerked and gave one delayed scream--out of proportion to the pain, clearly fearful of the glass intruder up his arse--but his prick stayed hard and red, straining up against his belly.  
  
"Let's make sure you don't get too carried away just yet." Fred rummaged in the box again and selected a thin ring of rubber; reaching between Malfoy's spread thighs, he took his balls in a none-too-gentle hand--Malfoy yelled again--and slid the ring about the tight sac, where it shrank down to the width of a finger, punishingly snug. Malfoy's cry was as strangled as his scrotum; he ducked his head and hyperventilated like he'd pass out any second, but he didn't beg and he still didn't lose one millimetre of his erection.  
  
The glint of light off that gold ring in Malfoy's nipple drew George like a signal. He slid to his knees next to Malfoy, crouched by his side so that he could lean in and touch the bit of gold with his tongue, traced up its rim to the nipple itself and began to tease it with minute licks. Malfoy flinched as if the tongue were icy, his nipple turning pebble-hard underneath George's tongue. Which was George's cue to get the thing between his teeth and bite, not hard enough to break into the skin but hard enough to worry into it, leave some good bruising marks and pull a nice throaty scream out of Malfoy.  
  
Fred laughed; he ducked down on the other side of Malfoy, and, when George had backed off, gave Malfoy's unadorned right nipple the same treatment, a preliminary lick or two and then a solid bite designed to get him to scream again. George watched Malfoy's face during this; he had his eyes screwed up at the worst of the scream, as if it were more bearable that way. It made George long to have the camera out and working again.  
  
"That hurt?" said Fred unnecessarily as he ended the bite, licking his lips. "Your tits could use a little tenderizing."  
  
George didn't need to be told twice. He was already reaching for the box, crawling the short distance to it to find the clamps they'd put in there. He took the set with the tighter spring, not even hesitating.  
  
He tossed one to Fred, who caught it. "Wait--I want him to watch. I want to watch him watching." George nodded as Fred aimed his wand at Malfoy's wrist bindings, which melted away. George set his foot against Malfoy's sternum and shoved, pushing Malfoy back almost onto his heels--there was a fleeting terrified expression across Malfoy's face which George guessed was his fear for that supposedly breakable ornament up his arse. George ignored it; Fred was already pulling Malfoy's arms behind him, using his wand to bind Malfoy's wrists to the floorboards between his spread ankles, forcing him to arch backwards like a strung bow.  
  
Now Malfoy could have a clear view of them coming at him with the clamps. They made a show of it for his sake, holding the things up, settling down in front of him on their own knees, teasing his nipples up with their fingers until each stood out like a sweet. Malfoy's face was a marvellous carousel of expressions: fearful, anticipatory, transfigured by little gasps as they worked his nipples to painful sensitivity. At last they let the clamps snap shut on each nipple, one at a time, setting him howling with each vicious pinch. He thrashed, shoulders twisting as if he could shake it off or shake the pain away. "Oh--fuck, fuck!" he whimpered when he could speak.  
  
Fred slapped him across the face. "Language. We've warned you." He slapped him again; Malfoy gasped and if anything, George would have said that Malfoy got off on the slaps as well. The dizzy look on his face could hardly have been from the pain alone, it hadn't been that hard a slap.  
  
"What shall we do about that mouth of his?" The words had hardly left him before he realized there was probably only one right answer: _put it to work_ , and George wasn't sure he wanted that, not yet.  
  
Fred was already grinning. "I suppose he'll have to--"  
  
"Wait." The compromise had come to him. "Just his tongue, for starters. I'm not sure I trust those teeth yet."  
  
"True." Fred nodded. "We should really show him how bad things can get, just so he knows, before he gets the privilege of using his whole mouth."  
  
Malfoy whimpered. To George it sounded like an invitation. "Show him, then."  
  
Another nod; Fred cast about as if deciding what would be best and picked up the bamboo cane. "Think I'll give you another taste of this. Across your tits. Pity you've got those clamps on them; that's really going to hurt. But that can't be helped, can it."  
  
And he aimed right for Malfoy's clamped nipples, no pretext that it was accidental; the cane swacked into Malfoy's chest and clattered upon the metal of the clamps. Malfoy howled, his head thrown back and his mouth open, and he made almost the same noise for each of the blows that followed: two, three, on into four, five, six blows directly across his nipples. By the last he was jerking; by the tenth he was screaming, "Stop it, stop it!"  
  
George turned away, Malfoy's cries filling the room and his head and his own cock as his eyes swept the room. He knew what he wanted. Knew there wasn't anything like it in the box; no, they hadn't made plans to go that far.  
  
His foot kicked a box of Smart-Answer Quills. Ha, why not.  
  
He grabbed one from the box, pulled about half the fletching off the shaft, leaving the pointed end long and bare, and then--he had to force himself to do this--blunted the point with his thumbnail so it wasn't quite so sharp. It would be fine; Malfoy didn't have to know he'd blunted it.  
  
Fred had stopped caning Malfoy long enough to adjust one of the clamps that was threatening to fall off, hanging by the very tip of the nipple; Malfoy was gasping over that one. Once Fred had it in place and had stepped back, George slid to his knees in front of Malfoy.  
  
He didn't hold up the quill; he didn't need to. Malfoy's eyes went to it right away, saw the grey length of it in George's left hand as his right went to Malfoy's cock. Malfoy stuttered in a breath as George settled his fingers about the base of the cock, lifting it upright. Then he brought the quill forward--not sideways, not poised to brush or tease or scratch, but vertical as the cock in his fingers.  
  
And Malfoy exploded with a "FUCK!" of panic, nearly jerking free of George's hand so that George had to tighten his grip. The tip of the quill met the eye of Malfoy's leaking prick; the push he gave it was minute at first but Malfoy's scream was anything but. He arched as if lightning-struck, cracked his throat on the howl of pain that escaped it--but, George noted, he was still in control enough not to try to pull away at this point, not to risk real damage by altering George's grip on the quill. His own cock aching, George pushed the quill further down Malfoy's piss-slit, a little further, and further still, imagining the thing impaling Malfoy all the way to his balls, making himself stop well before that.  
  
When he let go, Malfoy's cock still raised the quill like a flag in his unrelenting erection. Malfoy was in tears, weeping noisily and making an anguished "Oh--" sound over and over which sounded damned near to _yes_ to George's ears.  
  
Fred whistled in admiration. "Now that--" he reached out and flicked the quill with a fingernail; Malfoy yelled-- "is one eager piece of meat. You'd come right around that thing if we took that ring off your balls, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Thought we were going to show him our worst," George said, voice hard. "Not sure we can come up with anything bad enough for this piece of shit."  
  
"Please..." gasped Malfoy. It was a long moaning syllable and George would have called it heartfelt. "Please stop. Please."  
  
George exchanged a glance with Fred; Fred quirked an eyebrow. "All right, then. We'll give you a chance to earn it." He began to undo his flies.  
  
George stood and did the same. "I'm still not risking those teeth near my cock. Tongue first, like we said."  
  
"Tongue first," Fred agreed. His cock, now freed, was eager as Malfoy's, red and sticky with precome. He moved to stand right in front of Malfoy. "You heard him. Tongue out, my lad. Reach for it like a good boy."  
  
Malfoy, blinking back tears, leaned forward; from his position, he could just reach the tip of Fred's cock with his tongue, straining a bit to do so. "Very nice," Fred pronounced at the first touch of Malfoy's tongue. "Lick away. Get a good taste."  
  
Malfoy did as he was told, tears still continuing a slow slide down his cheeks as he applied his tongue to Fred's cock; the head, the underside, the whole length got Malfoy's attentions, as well as, when Fred directed him there, the furred sac of his balls. Fred groaned in pleasure but, George noted, stayed careful not to get carried away and come nearer. Malfoy was straining his tongue to the root to do as instructed.  
  
At last, with a gasp, Fred said, "Your turn, George," and stepped back to let George near. Malfoy gave him the same treatment, lapping first at the head of his cock, and that alone was enough to have George ready to say to hell with caution and want to bury his prick deep down Malfoy's throat. But he held off. He wanted to come in Malfoy's arse after pummeling him to a jelly; both of them did.  
  
Malfoy's tongue on his shaft and his balls was glorious. "You little slut, Malfoy," said Fred, "you're too bloody good at that not to like it."  
  
"I would piss on your face and make you lick it up," George panted, "except you'd probably like that too." And he didn't fancy losing his erection at this point for it.  
  
Malfoy didn't answer and he didn't stop licking. Or crying. George wanted to fuck him now. "Get that thing out of his arse. I want in there."  
  
Fred moved behind Malfoy. " _Accio_ weight." Malfoy's face convulsed as the brass weight wormed its way out of him and into Fred's hand; George was already backing away, crouching down to seize the end of the quill.  
  
"Want your attention on our cocks reaming you out, not on this," he hissed, and yanked the quill out of Malfoy's prick entirely. Malfoy shrieked and would have buckled to the ground had it not been for his restraints; instead he sagged there, his thighs supporting his weight entirely as he sobbed and sobbed.  
  
They allowed him a few moments only; then they were dissolving the restraints at his wrists and ankles, pulling him up to what would have been a standing position had he been able to stand, and bent him at the waist. New restraints took their place, Malfoy's wrists lashed to each of his ankles, so that he was forced to stand spread-legged and bent over, ready to fall over at any moment but that they held him steady.  
  
Fred slapped at Malfoy's arse, once, twice, a hard series of blows. "Cooled off a bit, didn't you?" Malfoy whimpered protest; George joined in spanking his arse as well, both of their hands reddening his buttocks as they held him upright. "Want your arse nice and hot when we fuck it."  
  
Malfoy wept as they brought his arse to blazing red, the heat from it hot as sunburn by the time they were satisfied. Malfoy barely even changed the tone of his whimpers as they spat upon their fingers and began to open him, shoving their fingers into his arse and stretching him, forcing his pucker to widen for them.  
  
George didn't care which of them went first. He knew they'd both be a long time at Malfoy; it didn't matter. Once again he dug his fingers into the cheeks of Malfoy's arse and presented his open arsehole to his twin. Fred flashed him a grin and positioned himself. Malfoy's answering gurgle told George when Fred had struck home.  
  
Fred, showing admirable control, pistoned deep into Malfoy's arse, gasping back his own orgasm as George kept Malfoy upright. "Little fucker's so tight--so fucking tight--"  
  
"Go on," George said. "Come. I'll keep him going for you until you recover."  
  
"You're the best brother ever--" Fred groaned. "Ahhh--" He shuddered into Malfoy, clutching the front of the smaller boy's hips, nearly collapsing over Malfoy's naked back. At last he pulled back, staggered back a few steps to sink to the floor, trousers still gaping open, softening cock glistening.  
  
George slid round to grab Malfoy's hips in the same manner. He didn't even need his hand to line himself up; his cock was so stiff it penetrated Malfoy's arsehole like an arrow, the head enveloped in that tight ring and sucked inside to Malfoy's sticky depths. The heat. The heat of him, fuck. George pulled back and rammed in again, feeling the ring of muscle slide up and down the shaft. Malfoy was crying out, stuttering cries that fed George's need to hear more of them. He took his time sliding in and out for a few passes, wanting to hear Malfoy groan with the duration of it, as well as trying to prolong his own staying power. Fred, sitting and watching them, was fingering his own prick delicately, trying to encourage it to rise again and hurry up about it.  
  
He could only endure so much. He shoved into Malfoy, back out again, began a punishing rhythm of fucking his arse, nearly toppling them both. Malfoy whimpered under him, cried out--there was almost a note of _stop_ in it and that drove George over the edge, sucked the breath and the come from him as he exploded in orgasm, his legs trembling, barely holding them both up as he gasped and dug his fingers into Malfoy's hips, felt everything recede and then come rushing back at him in one moment of glory.  
  
Fred was standing. Fred was holding Malfoy up now, helping George to back away so that they could change positions, George collapsing to the floor to watch as Fred, cock mostly erect and ready for more, resumed his place in preparation to fuck Malfoy once again. Still gasping, still feeling incredibly exquisite in his skin, George watched as Fred settled into Malfoy again, beginning a good slow fuck this time, able to ream him deep and hard without coming too quickly. Fighting the urge to curl up and drift, George took his cock in hand carefully--so sensitive--and began to coax it back to a hard-on, finding all the motivation he needed in the scene before him.  
  
They used Malfoy again, and again, and again--George didn't count; he thought he came a total of three times but they were changing over more frequently than for orgasm. Orgasm was no longer important; hurting Malfoy was all that mattered. And Malfoy did scream, screamed and pleaded and wept, and they heard the word stop many, many times before they were through, not just the suggestion of it.  
  
When they took the ring off Malfoy's balls at last, they wouldn't even have been able to distinguish his cries of orgasm from those of pain, had they not watched his tormented prick jerk and spill gobs of stringy semen onto the floor beneath.  
  


* * *

  
  
"He knows those weren't the only set of pictures."  
  
"Probably." Fred seemed no more worried than George was about it--which was not at all. "He didn't even seem to care that he got them in the end," he yawned, running a hand through his damp hair as he lay back on his bed. "Did you see? It was all about that packet of powder. Like he'd've gone through twice that to get it."  
  
George, on his own bed, grunted into the crook of his arm. "Perverted little fucker. He loved every minute of it."  
  
"Think he did. I could almost think that powder was just an excuse, after all."  
  
"Or he really doesn't know that he could find it elsewhere."  
  
"Well, either way--" Fred looked over at him and grinned--"lucky us."  
  
"Yeah." George smiled back in answer, feeling the delicious ache of his muscles everywhere in his body. "Lucky us."  
  
  



End file.
